


everything stops when i'm with you

by crossingwinter



Series: Star Wars Drabbles & Ficlets [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Inspired by Boots by Kesha, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: she wakes up fucked up next to him.rey thinks she might still be drunk.  which might be a blessing because if she can get enough water into her it might mean she evades the worst hangover she’ll have had since college.





	everything stops when i'm with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariannenymerosmartell (somethingmoo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmoo/gifts).



> this was written as a birthday gift for [@ariannenymerosmartell](http://ariannenymerosmartell.tumblr.com). i originally posted it in [just you.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13229922/) but got indecisive and so am moving it to it's own thing.

she wakes up fucked up next to him.

rey thinks she might still be drunk.  which might be a blessing because if she can get enough water into her it might mean she evades the worst hangover she’ll have had since college.  

she extracts herself heavily from the bed–he’s still asleep and his arm had been thrown lazily over her stomach as he’d fallen asleep facedown on his bed.  his hair looks like they’d fucked  _really_  well last night, sticking up on all sides the way it is.  (hazily, she remembers holding it as he’d licked at her, tugging it as he’d fucked her, running her hands through it as she’d kissed him.  hazily, she remembers thinking he had remarkably soft hair to match the remarkably  _unsoft_ …rest of him.) when her feet hit the ground she sits down on the bed, scanning around for socks and shoes because his floor is  _cold_  doesn’t the man own a rug?  it’s the middle of winter and he lives in chicago.  she’s not a wimp about the cold–she’s really not–but cold  _feet_  are different from the cold rest of you and her feet are cold.

her shoes, she remembers with a sinking heart, are by the door where she’d kicked them off upon arriving, her lips attached to his as they’d peeled away her uniform, piece by piece.  it was probably strewn across the apartment in a track that led to the bedroom.  

in the corner, she spies a pair of boots.  they’re definitely too big for her, but they’ll do for her purposes so, wincing, she scurries across the floor and sticks her feet in them.  then she tiptoes out of his room to find the bathroom where she pees, drinks about five cups of water, and, finally, looks at herself in the mirror.

oh she looks so  _fucked_  and it’s incredible.  if his hair looks like she’d held it while they’d boned the night before, hers is similarly a mess.  some of it’s stuck together–she thinks–from some of his dried precum and there’s about five hickies blooming on her breasts, her neck, her shoulder.  she’d be annoyed at him except she remembers how fucking obscene his lips are and how the only thing she’d wanted from him was those lips, on her, always, anywhere he felt was appropriate. or inappropriate.

she washes her face, because she hadn’t the night before and she still has work makeup on (god had she really not taken that off?) before clicking off the light in the bathroom and turning back to the bedroom.  a little clock in the bathroom tells her it’s still before noon and she doesn’t have to be back at the airport until five pm for her flight to japan and if she’s going to fly a plane halfway around the world tonight she’s at the very least going to see if this…kylo.  she’d screamed that how many times last night?  kylo wants to make her scream again.

he’s awake when she comes into the room, no longer lying on his stomach and as she’s getting ready to kick off his boots, he says, “don’t,” raspily and she freezes.

he’s watching her, drinking her in, and she cocks her head at him.  his eyes drip across the bruises on her neck to her breasts to the dark thatch between her legs, then down to his boots before rising again, just as lazily until he locks eyes with her.

“get over here,” he breathes.

and she does.

* * *

rey’s routes don’t take her through chicago all too frequently.  she’s usually international out of new york, because that’s where she lives, and domestic without enough time spent in chicago to really justify getting too far away from o’hare between her flights.  that’s never bothered her before now.  she likes chicago fine as far as cities go, and the bar scene is pretty good, but she’d never had a steady “hey i’m in town let’s fuck” the way she does in most of the other cities she flies through.

that changes with kylo.

he lives along the lake with an unreal view out of his window over the water and all rey can think is that he  _has_  to have a lot of money if he can afford a place like this.  a place like this probably is like twelve million a month in new york.  he’d probably shudder at the size of her apartment in queens–and that she has to share it with three other people.  

the next time she’s got a night in chicago, though, he fucks her against the window of his apartment, her face pressed against the glass and staring out at the wide blue water as his cock fills her in just the right way so that she’s trembling and moaning much more quickly than she usually is.

* * *

it’s not that rey’s not a sentimental person.  she’s very sentimental with her friends, and would do anything for the people in her life that choose her.  it comes, she’s sure even if she can’t afford a therapist right now, from the childhood abandonment.  but that hasn’t ever really extended to the people she fucks when she’s passing through different cities.  feeling good physically and feeling good emotionally don’t have to come from the same person, and in rey’s experience it shouldn’t.  

so when she’s next in chicago, she’s surprised when kylo’s response to her  _hey are you around tonight?_  

is 

_dinner?_

_to be clear, dinner is preceding our usual, right?_

_yes.  i figured it was time i took you out._

_thanks for all the sex?_

_if you want.  or the usual sort of dinner with someone you periodically fuck._

_getting sentimental?_

he doesn’t reply to that immediately, and when she turns her phone back on after a smooth landing at o’hare, the text she has from him is a restaurant and a time.   _it’s not super fancy so you don’t nec have to change unless you want to._

she doesn’t have anything to change into, so she doesn’t, but she does take the lapel pin from the airline off the jacket as well as the neckerchief because she knows better than to be recognized as an employee of the airline when she’s out on the town.  

“hello,” she says when she reaches the table, bending and kissing him, drawing his lower lip between hers and sucking it slightly.  “hope i didn’t keep you waiting.”

he shrugs.  there’s already wine on the table and he pours some of the bottle into her glass.  “flight ok?” he asks her.  

“yeah.  the landing was smooth and there wasn’t much turbulence.”

“where are you off to next?” he asks.

“i’m co-piloting to dubai tomorrow afternoon.”  he blinks, and she recognizes the look in his eyes.  “you thought i was a stewardess.”

“i did make that assumption, yes,” he says slowly.

“everyone does,” she replies.  “it helps nothing that my name sounds like ‘ray’ so everyone assumes i’m a guy when i fly anyway.”

“where’d you learn to fly?” he asks her.  “marines?”

“air force,” she replies and he looks impressed.  there’s something in his expression that makes her ask, “did you serve?”

“marines,” he replies with a crooked smile and there it is.  “i flew helicopters.”

“nice,” rey beams at him. 

“yeah, the ptsd from news choppers is delightful.”  his voice is dry and he takes a sip of wine, and rey understands that.  she understands that way too well.  she reaches her hand across the table and takes his, rubbing her thumb across the side of his hand.  his eyes grow soft at the contact and god he has such lovely rich brown eyes she’s drowning in them.

she’s never drowned in eyes before.

* * *

she’d accused him, jokingly, of getting sentimental when he’d asked her to dinner.

she’d thought it was playful, thought it was funny, thought it was a reminder that sure, they fuck  _really_ well every few months, but that’s really all they are.

but leaving him the next day makes her heart wrench for some reason, and when she lands in dubai half a world away, for the first time in her life, she texts someone who isn’t finn to say,  _landed safely._

finn always wants to know that she landed safely.  he worries too much.

kylo’s response is immediate.

_glad to hear it._

and her heart swells at the four little words on her screen.

* * *

_landed safely_  turns into selfies she takes while delayed due to inclement weather, to pictures of the bars she’s visiting and oddly not picking people up in, to skylines that she takes from the cockpit.

he always replies quickly, sometimes with a joke, sometimes with something longer.

he texts her about work–he works in tech and she knows nothing about tech but somehow he makes it easy to understand–pictures of the food he’s eating, the beer he’s drinking.  he texts her–probably drunkenly–at 2am sometimes about how angry he gets about his dad, and how he doesn’t know how to look his mom in the face and how he feels so lonely because he’s not the kind of guy that just…has friends.

she texts him about her parents, about abandonment, about the friends who’ve chosen her over the years and how wonderful they are but how they don’t fill that aching, gaping hole that she doesn’t matter, that she won’t matter, that she’s nothing.

 _not to me,_ he responds fiercely.   _you’re not alone._

_neither are you._

after that particular exchange, she slips three fingers inside herself and pretends it’s him until she comes, then cries herself to sleep into her pillow wishing he were there in nashville with her.

* * *

that is a jarring thing to wake up from.

she’s not the type of girl to get attached to a guy like this.  she’s never been the kind of girl who dreams of the white picket fence and the white dress and the white veil and “until death do us part.”  she’s the kind of girl who flies around the world, picks up guys in bars, fucks them for the kick of it, and then flies off without a word, on to the next adventure.  for particularly good fucks, she keeps their number in case they’re interested again.  but crying herself to sleep because some guy in chicago is telling her she’s not alone?  

that’s new.

that’s scary.

but rey is also determined–always–to be brave.  she has to be.  it’s how she got this far.  but the emotional exposure of it all is possibly the most terrifying part of all this, and scarier by far than anything else she’s gone through in years.

but on her next weekend off, she flies as a passenger to chicago and texts him from laguardia before she takes off.

_i’m in chicago this weekend.  are you free?_

_a whole weekend?  how’d that get scheduled?_

_are you?_

_yeah.  stay at my place._

_that’s the hope._

_text me when you land._

_always._

when she arrives at his apartment that night, he takes in her lack of uniform, the shoulder bag that is not industry standard and he frowns slightly, visibly confused.

“i,” she begins, taking a deep breath, “i wanted to see you.”  and she steps forward towards him, stands on the tips of her toes and kisses him softly and if there isn’t a dumb shiver that goes down her spine and everything.  

his hands come up to cup her face and he nudges his nose against hers.  

“is this getting a little too real?” she whispers to him between kisses.  they’re still standing in his doorway.

“don’t worry,” he murmurs back.  “i feel it too.”

she wraps her arm around his neck, pulling herself more closely to him, her other hand coming up to rest on his chest.

she’s used to fucking him–hard and fast.  she’s used to fucking him until he’s bruised her cervix, probably, or until she’s so raw she feels it in the cockpit the next day.  but when he takes her into his bedroom this time, his kisses are slow, his hands are gentle as he helps her out of her clothes, and when he’s hovering over her body, his eyes are overbright in a way that makes her heart stop.  she kisses that quivering lower lip of his, cupping his face in her hands and she wants nothing more than to drown in his big, brown eyes until she forgets where in the universe she is because the only thing that matters is that he’s there with her now.

she trails her fingers along his spine, feeling the now-familiar waves of his muscles that criss-cross his back, and his lips leave hers and he’s buried his face in her neck, breathing heavily as he sucks at the skin there.  she curves her legs around his hips and squeezes her arms around him and holds him while he kisses her, while he trembles there in her arms, and she runs her nose along the curve of his neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses there as her heart hammers in her chest.  

fucking has never been intimate for her before–beyond the physical, anyway.  she knows that’s changing and her heart is hammering in her throat because she’d flown to chicago to see him, and now he’s here in her arms, and she never wants to let him go.

he kisses his way back across her face to her lips again, and his lips are so slow against hers and she’d never felt her stomach lurch the way it does at the slowness of his kiss, at the way his tongue rubs gently against hers.  she’s never felt this breathless from something that was requiring so little exertion on her part.  she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his, and listens to the sound of his breath.  

then, she rolls him over, crouching over him on her knees and pulling his lower lip between her teeth once again.  she rolls over him, her stomach rubbing against his stomach, her breasts rubbing against his chest, her cunt running along the length of his shaft, and heat igniting in her like the dawning of the day as her fingers rub through that soft, dark hair that she so loves to hold when she’s fucking him.  his hand slides down between them and she feels his fingers on her clit, circling it lightly, twisting it gently between two fingers in a way that makes her shudder, makes her moan.  

he smiles against her lips and slides a finger inside her, knowing that that does little more than tease her because  _one_  finger hasn’t been enough in years.  she bites at his lip even as he does it, which only makes him snort and slow the movement of his fingers.  she whines, and stops moving completely because if he’s going to tease she is too, and when she pulls her lips away from his, pulls her face back to look at him, his eyes are on her and he looks…well he looks like he’s in love.

rey sits up and he drinks her in.  she slides back so she’s sitting just over his groin, feeling how hot and hard he is against her slit now.  she takes him in her hand and his eyes flutter because her grip is just the right amount of firm for him and she rubs what she’s dripped on him over his skin, circling his tip lightly until his dick twitches in her hand and he lets out a groan, low in his throat.  she raises herself up slightly and locks eyes with him as she pulls his tip towards her entrance, dipping him into the wetness of her until she finds just the right spot, then sinks down onto him with a sigh, her eyes closing, her lips spreading into a smile.  

 _this_  is what it’s supposed to feel like.  every time–it’s supposed to feel like she’s full, like she’s wanted, like there’s no room for emptiness in the world, much less in either of them.  she begins to rock her hips, and she bites her lip because she loves riding him, loves the way this angle works for her, loves knowing that, when his hands come to her hips, his eyes are open and he’s watching her, watching them fuck.

But his hands don’t come to her hips.  She feels him shift underneath her and then he’s sitting up, his arms around her back, briefly for balance, then moving again so that he can cup her face between his hands as he kisses her again.  When she opens her eyes, she sees any number of things flash in his eyes, but the one he lands on is the one that causes him to flip her over and bring her legs up over his shoulders as his hips start bucking into her wildly, except not wildly.  wildly implies that he’s lost control, and he hasn’t.  his hips are purposeful, his gaze above her is intense, and when she comes apart her heart and body and mind are so full of him that she feels everything that much more sharply, that much more deeply.

he doesn’t outlast her by much, and when he collapses on top of her, she runs her hair through his hair–now sweaty–and kisses his shoulder.  he is heavy, and she breathes deeply as she feels his heart beating hard and fast against her chest, and she smiles because she’s still aftershocking, still twitching against his dick as they lie there, together in one another’s arms.  

when he does roll off her, pull out of her, she curls up against his chest, tilting her face up to kiss him.  and when she drifts off to sleep, she feels the same way she does every time lifts-off–like this was the way she was meant to live.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, come say hi over on my [tumblr](http://galacticprideandprejudice.tumblr.com)!


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